International Resc-Who?
by Purupuss
Summary: International Rescue are down and it's all Jeff's fault. But are they out? Not if Grandma has anything to say about the matter.
1. International Resc-flu?

_Back in 2013 I wanted to write a story where I didn't beat up any of the Tracys..._

 _So I started out by beating them all up..._

 _And finally decided I was ready to post it two years later._

 _As usual I have no claims over any of the "Rescue" craft, the Tracys, the Kyranos, or Brains. Anyone who wants to is welcome to claim Melvyn.  
_

 _I would like to thank Quiller, D.C., ScribeOfRed and the Mews for their help in the creation of this story._

 _F-A-B_

:-) _Purupuss_

 _Please do not copy or post any of my stories in C2s or elsewhere without my permission._

* * *

 **Chapter 1 - International Resc-flu?**

 _ **Down!**_

"Tin-Tin..." Alan Tracy reached out blindly for his girlfriend. "I'm..." He licked his dry lips with a tongue that seemed even more dehydrated. "I' dyin', Tin-Tin."

Tin-Tin stepped away from his grasping hands. "You are not dying, Alan."

Exhausted, he allowed his arm to flop back down. "Yes, I'm."

She looked down at his sweat-slicked face and laid the cold compress on his forehead. "No, you are not. You have influenza. That is all."

Alan started to shake his head, stopping just as quickly as he'd started, sure that he could feel his brains sloshing around inside his skull. "No. Brainz'z wrong. I'm dyin'."

"You are receiving the correct treatment. You will recover."

"Tin-Tin..."

But Tin-Tin had decided that she didn't have the energy to argue with him anymore and had walked away.

She stopped next to the only other lady in the room. "Why is it that when men are ill, they believe themselves to be at death's door?" she enquired.

Grandma chuckled, standing to one side so that Kyrano, the bowl in his hands filled with cool, damp cloths, could walk past. "Every man I've lived with – my father, my husband, my son, and my grandsons – have been just as bad. Why, to hear my dear, departed husband talk, you'd think that the farm should have had a team of paramedics following him around to resuscitate him." She chuckled again. "And that was when he had a case of the sniffles."

Tin-Tin glanced over at the beds in the infirmary. "The boys never create such a fuss when they are injured."

Grandma's lips thinned. "Which happens too often..." She ran her eyes across the monitors recording temperatures, blood pressures, heart rates, and respirations. "An injury is an affront to their male dignity and must be whipped into submission and shown who's boss. Illness, however, brings out the child in them all." She folded her arms. "I've lost count of the number of times I've run myself ragged nurse-maiding them..." She looked along a row of feverish faces. "This is the first time I've ever had to deal with a royal flush though."

Jeff Tracy had been in America conducting some of those high-powered meetings that were part of running a successful business. When he received word that the infectious disease was striking those he'd been in contact with, he decided that it would be prudent to hightail it for home. He'd been in the air for nearly an hour when the first symptoms had started to appear.

Many of the non-business-related discussions he'd been involved in talked about the course of this particular strain of the flu and Jeff had a fair idea what he was in for. The infectious phase one was characterised by fevers and chills before phase two hit and the entire body seemed to melt into a puddle of vomiting and diarrhoea. When that had subsided into phase three, the patient was left weak and delirious. Phase four saw the mind clearing, but the body was crippled by various aches and pains. Phase five wasn't declared over until the patient's appetite had returned and they felt well enough to be independently mobile.

Knowing this, Jeff had theorised that, while he could make it home safely, he would be under the weather by the time his wheels touched down on the Tracy Island runway. This left him with a choice. Turn back and submit to being nursed by strangers, or continue his homeward dash where he could collapse into the loving arms of his mother and succumb to the joys of her chicken soup.

He arrived home to a scolding for risking his neck and was sent straight to bed. Scott assisting him to his room.

And it had been the eldest of Jeff's sons who was the first to catch the disease from his father, closely followed by Alan, then Gordon, before finally Virgil had fallen.

The progression of each Tracy through the odoriferous mess that marked phase two had seemed to last forever, and for convenience's sake Brains had moved them all out of their individual bedrooms and into the infirmary. By the time each Tracy staggered into phase three, their carers were as rung-out as the patients.

But that was a night's sleep ago and everyone was feeling much more refreshed.

Everyone who was still standing, at least.

Mrs Tracy frowned. "That son of mine should have realised that he was infectious and stayed in the States!"

"Like any sick child, Mr Tracy wanted his mother?" Tin-Tin theorised, a delicate smirk playing around her lips as she looked along the row of faces that varied in shade from lily-white to almost scarlet. "He knew that if he came home you would feed him your chicken soup."

"I should refuse to give it to him." Grandma huffed. "This is all his fault."

"At least we should be grateful that International Rescue's services have not–"

"Don't say it!" Mrs Tracy raised her hand to stop Tin-Tin's speech. "Don't mention that name! You'll only jinx us. With all four boys out of action..." Censoring herself, she smiled across at her son. "At least he's well enough to eat his chicken soup now. Unlike the others..."

"Mother..."

Grandma sighed. "Duty calls… Yes, darling…?"

Brains bustled past making notes about his patients. He was as professional and solicitous towards them as always, but Tin-Tin could detect a trace of smugness that he, wimpy, bespectacled, laboratory geek, was still hale and hearty while each and every one of the handsome, dashing, vigorous men of the Tracy household had been laid low.

But there was one exception. The palm trees in the photo of Tracy Island on the wall swayed gently and the soothing sound of waves lapping the beach was heard. Being closest to the video screen, Tin-Tin initiated the link with Thunderbird Five. "Go ahead, John."

John Tracy's happy, almost infuriatingly healthy, face appeared on screen. "Hiya, Tin-Tin. How are the invalids?"

She sighed. "Your father is eating, and Brains believes that he may go back to his own room tonight."

"That's good."

"Scott has almost worked his way through phase five. He keeps on offering to help, but we are not going to accept until he gets his appetite back."

"If he's not hungry then he's definitely sick."

"Virgil is halfway through phase three, and Gordon is moving out of phase three and into phase four. His bed is practically swimming in sweat."

"At least he'll feel at home," John quipped, before raising an eyebrow. "And Alan?"

"Believes he is dying."

John snuffled a laugh. "Typical." Then he became serious. "How are you all holding up?"

Tin-Tin treated him to a reassuring smile. "We are all well."

"Good." John lowered his voice. "How's Grandma?"

"Your grandmother is a tower of strength."

"Glad to hear it." John thought for a moment. "Although come to think of it, I don't think I remember her ever being ill. I think she must be made out of cahelium or something. She's as tough as old boots!"

"I heard that, young man!"

"Sorry, Grandma!"

Tin-Tin laughed at John's immediate, almost childlike, apology. "Do not worry about us, John. We managed to get some sleep last night."

"Good. I'd hate to think that you're all about be struck down by the dreaded bug," he admitted. "It's not like I could pop home and take care of you all."

"Do not worry. Your brothers are past the infectious stage and Brains believes that none of us will become ill. If anything, he thinks that we will have gained some immunity and are less likely to catch the disease."

"Leaving me the weak link." John grimaced. "In that case, maybe I'd better stay here for a couple of weeks longer than planned so I won't catch it! That'll give Alan time to get his strength back."

"I wish you were home now, John." Tin-Tin shoved her hands into the pockets of her white lab coat. "If International Rescue is called out…"

"Tin-Tin!"

"Sorry, Mrs Tracy." And Tin-Tin realised that, while they may not have blood ties, her apology had the same childlike ring as John's. She made a face to John, who grinned back.

Grandma, at the bedside of the first invalid, caressed his arm. "How are you feeling, darling?"

"Better." Jeff Tracy treated his mother to a weak smile. "I don't feel like I'm pulling five Gs anymore. Only one and a half."

Chuckling at his simile, she checked the monitor above his bed. "Your temperature's almost back to normal."

"Good."

"Do you need anything?"

"Would you mind getting me my glasses?"

"Of course. Anything else?"

"My briefcase."

"Your briefcase?" Jeff's mother scowled down on him. "What on Earth for?"

"I thought I might do some work."

She folded her arms and his temperature ramped up a few points as she dared him to disobey her. "You are meant to be resting, Jefferson! Not working!"

"But, Mother..."

"But, Mother, nothing."

"But…"

"You are going to rest!"

"But…"

"The business can take care of itself for a few days."

"But..."

"I am _not_ going to let you have a relapse!"

And Jeff, in his own childlike way, knew he was beaten.

Other inhabitants of the ward were still too ill to think about getting better, let alone worrying about relapses. "Thirzdy," Gordon slurred. "'m thirzdy. Dringk."

"Jus'..." Scott managed to lever himself into a position that could roughly be called upright. "Jus' stay there, Gord'n. I... I'll ge' you..." He rolled out of bed.

His feet hit the floor, the rest of his body following until he was a crumpled heap on the vinyl.

"Here we go again," Brains grumbled as he hurried over to the downed invalid.

"Permit me to help you, Mister Brains." Kyrano put Scott's arm about his shoulders and heaved.

Appearing to have difficulty focussing, Scott looked at him. "Wha'... Whad 'appened, Kyr'no."

"You fell, Mister Scott."

"I did?"

"Yes, Mister Scott."

"How?"

"You stood, Mister Scott."

There were grunts as the two men tried to raise one who, while weak as a kitten, appeared to be as heavy as a well fed polar bear.

"Mother..."

Grandma returned to her son's bedside. "Yes, honey?"

"Can you help me with my pillow? It feels all lumpy."

"Would you like me to plump it up for you?"

"Yes, please." Jeff smiled up at his angel of mercy. "Where would we be without you?"

"You'd be in bed, in the States, your sons would be well, and someone else would be plumping your pillow. Now, do you require anything else?"

Jeff settled back into the downy cushioning. "No. That's fine, thanks."

Finally managing to get their charge up to the level of the bed, Brains and Kyrano let Scott flop backwards onto the sheets. The eldest Tracy son stared at the ceiling. "Wha' happened?"

Declining to answer, Brains took a moment to regain his breath, before hearing a plaintive, "Thirzdy," from behind him. "P'raps you'll s-s-see to Gordon, Kyrano?" he puffed as he prepared to lift Scott's legs onto the bed.

Kyrano accepted the duty that Scott's fall had relinquished. "Would you like some water, Mister Gordon?"

"Warda?"

"Yes, Mister Gordon. Water." Kyrano took a moistened towel from out of a bowl and placed it on Gordon's forehead.

"Head 'urts."

"Do you wish me to remove the cloth?" Kyrano did so.

"Arms'urt."

"I understand that during phase three you will feel some pain."

"Bacg 'urts."

"It is part of the progression of the disease. It shall pass."

"'Ot."

"It is the fever. Allow me to cool you down." Kyrano remoistened the towel and replaced it on Gordon's forehead.

Gordon gave no sign of being aware what was happening to him. "Ear 'urts."

"Which one?"

"Allofit."

"All of it?"

Gordon managed a nod.

Kyrano, aware that this could be symptomatic of something other than the influenza that had levelled the Tracy family, wasn't prepared to dismiss Gordon's statement as the ramblings of a feverish man. "Do you have pain in your inner ear or outer ear? Do you have an earache?"

There was a weak shake of Gordon's head. "No. Ear 'urts."

"Your ear lobe."

"Yes… An' m'ear."

"And your inner ear?"

"No. M'ear.

"Mister Gordon…?" Kyrano was feeling somewhat confused by the conversation. "I wish to help. You said your ears hurt. Where are you in pain?"

"'Verywhere."

"Everywhere? Including your ear?"

"Not ear." Gordon appeared somewhat disgusted by his friend's lack of understanding. "Ear!" His hand moved as he tried to raise it. "Ear, Kyr'no"

Kyrano didn't want his patient exerting himself more than necessary. "Perhaps you could spell the word for me?"

"Sp'll?"

"Yes. What letter does it start with?"

"Wha' ledda does wha' star' with?"

"Your ear that hurts."

"Not ear!" Gordon spat in frustration. "Ear!"

Kyrano only just managed to stop himself from shaking his head in bewilderment. "And the first letter is?"

"Age."

"Age? Ear starts with A?"

"No, age!"

Kyrano asked some divine power for assistance.

That assistance was supplied via a softly spoken "Kyrano."

Kyrano turned. "Did you require me, Mr Tracy?"

"Ask him if he means hair."

Kyrano stared at his friend. "Hair? Do you mean...?" He raised his hand to touch his greying locks.

"I've been there, my friend," Jeff reminded him. "When you're in phase four you're convinced every part of your body aches, including your hair..." He spied another caregiver. "Ah, Mother... Would you mind…?"

Kyrano couldn't quite believe what he'd been told, and if it had been anyone other than Jeff Tracy offering the suggestion he would have dismissed it. He turned back to the young man lying in the bed. "Does your hair hurt, Mister Gordon?"

An almost beatific look softened Gordon's face. "Yes. 'Air." Then he swallowed. "Throa' 'urts."

Glad to be back on familiar, logical territory, Kyrano smiled his quiet smile. "You said you were thirsty. Perhaps a drink will soothe your throat." The old offer was reiterated. "Would you like some water?"

"Warda?"

"Yes, Mister Gordon. Water."

"Swim? 'Urts too much to swim."

"No, Mister Gordon. Not water to swim in. You must rest. Would you like some water to drink?"

"Dringk?"

"Yes, Mister Gordon. You said you were thirsty. What would you like to drink?"

"Ummm..." Gordon thought. "Brain 'urts."

"Do not try to think," Kyrano suggested. "Go with your, as you say, gut instinct."

"Gut 'urts."

Kyrano frowned. Perhaps Gordon wasn't quite out of phase two yet, although those symptoms had passed two days ago. "Do you wish me to fetch a bowl?"

"No. Fege dringk."

Kyrano relaxed. "And what would you like to drink, Mister Gordon?" He decided against his suggesting water again.

Gordon frowned as he thought. "Dunno."

"Perhaps you would prefer juice?"

Gordon's frown deepened. "No."

Hopeful that despite his somewhat eccentric ravings, maybe Gordon wasn't as ill as he thought and that phase two was well and truly past, Kyrano offered what would normally be a guaranteed winning offer. "Would you care for some of Mrs Tracy's chicken soup?"

Gordon didn't even stop to consider the suggestion; a sure sign he was under the weather. "No."

It was often said that Kyrano had infinite patience, but even he was starting to feel the strain of dealing with five invalids. Managing to ignore his impulse to walk away and leave Gordon alone to his thirst, he offered a solicitous: "Then what do you feel like drinking, Mister Gordon?"

"Milg."

"I am sorry, but I cannot offer you milk."

Through sweat-beaded eyelashes – they'd have to change his sheets again soon – Gordon looked surprised. "No mil'?"

"No, Mister Gordon. Dairy products are not good for you at the moment." Kyrano smiled at the invalid through clenched teeth. "What else would you like to drink?"

Gordon thought again. A process that he seemed to find extremely taxing.

The seconds ticked by.

Kyrano was starting to wonder if Gordon had forgotten that he was standing next to the bed, when the younger man's face relaxed and, delighted with his triumph, he smiled up at his friend. "Warda."

Suppressing a sigh, Kyrano went in search of a glass.

Grandma scowled down on her son. "I told you before. I am _not_ going to get you your briefcase!"

"But, Mother..."

"No! You are going to rest, Jeff. Surely you can do that for another 24 hours? You said yourself that you're only feeling nearly better. Can't you wait until you're one hundred percent? The business is _not_ more important than your health."

Jeff almost pouted. " _The business,_ as you called it, is what keeps International Rescue healthy."

"Don't mention International Rescue!" she snapped. "We've been lucky so far and we don't want to jinx ourselves." She took a deep breath and plastered a smile on her face. "Would you like a book to read?"

Now Jeff did pout. "No."

"The newspaper?"

In a huff, Jeff folded his arms. "No." Then an idea came to him. "How about a tablet PC?"

The false smile disappeared. "So you can check the markets? I don't think so. Get some rest, Jeff!"

Brains, still panting a little after the exertion of getting the eldest Tracy son back into bed, checked his patient's vital signs. "Just – _gasp_ – rest, Scott."

"Wanna 'elp."

"I know you want to 'elp, er, help, but you must – _gasp_ – rebuild your strength first. Do you – _gasp_ – feel up to having something to eat? Perhaps some of your – _gasp_ – grandmother's chicken soup?"

Scott, his expression a study of the resolve that he showed at a rescue, nodded.

"I'll tell your grandma."

But Brains had no need to waste the breath that he was still trying to suck in as, as if she had a supernatural gift that told her when her boys needed her – the reality was that she was putting some distance between herself and her son – Grandma appeared at their side. "Are you sure you are ready for some soup, Darling?"

Scott paled. Then nodded.

"Very well. I'll be right back." Grandma bustled away, passing the other beds.

Tin-Tin placed a cold compress on Virgil's brow. "How are you feeling now, Virgil?"

"Terr'ble, Gr'nma."

A small frown creased his carer's forehead. "I'm Tin-Tin."

"T'n-T'n..." Virgil's hand grabbed at hers. It felt horrible and sweaty. "The Sendinal sho' me, T'n-T'n."

"The Sentinel? Yes, it did, but that was months ago." Tin-Tin tried to pull free of the sweaty hand.

But something was troubling Virgil and he wasn't going to let her go until he'd got to the bottom of it. "I waz in 'derbird Two. Why id shood me? I waz goin' 'ome."

"I know you were."

"Gran'ma…"

Tin-Tin tugged harder. "I am Tin-Tin, Virgil."

"Why'd id shoot me? I wasn' goin' to hurt it."

It looked like Tin-Tin wasn't going to get her hand back any time soon. "You don't need to worry about the Sentinel, Virgil."

"Shot 'derbird Two. She on fire."

"There is no fire."

"'S burnin'. Ged ou' while you can, Brains."

"I am Tin-Tin. You feel like you are burning because you have a fever."

"'ver?"

"Yes. You are suffering from the flu." Tin-Tin pulled at her hand again.

"Flu?" Virgil seemed to have difficulty getting past the fact that he was inexplicably warm. That didn't stop his grip being like iron. "'Ot chimn'y flu'."

"There is no chimney here, Virgil."

"Then engine'z… , Scod! Engine'z 'ot!"

Tin-Tin decided against correcting him. "Virgil! Let me go, relax, and get some sleep."

"Bedder put the fvire out 'fore we all burn up. Send in Fvirefly, G'rd'n."

Tin-Tin was still struggling to rescue her hand. "There is no fire. You have influenza and in a couple of days and you will be fit and well and flying Thunderbird Two again… Now, will you please let go of my hand?"

She heard a voice from the far bed behind her. "Kyrano..."

Kyrano hurried to Jeff's bedside. "Yes, Mr Tracy."

"Get Virgil some headphones."

"Yes, Mr Tracy."

"And play him some music."

"Yes, Mr Tracy."

"That'll settle him."

"Yes, Mr Tracy."

"And then maybe you'll be good enough to get me my briefcase."

"Jefferson!"

"No, Mr Tracy."

Grateful for the pending assistance, Tin-Tin smiled down at the delirious man in the bed. "Would you like to listen to some music, Virgil?"

"Muzic?"

"Yes." Tin-Tin would have mimed putting on a pair of headphones, but was prevented by his iron grip. "Look. Father has your headphones."

"Muzic." As the lightweight headphones were placed over his ears and the music piped through, Virgil relaxed. He smiled up at the man assisting him. "Thanks, T'n-T'n."

Tin-Tin shared a grimace with her father, made her escape, and went in search of hot soapy water.

She passed Grandma returning to her eldest grandson's bedside with a small amount of aromatic liquid in a bowl. "Are you sure you want this, Scott?"

Propped up against his pillows, Scott looked like he wanted to say no, but his stubborn streak came to the fore, told his body to get in line, and managed a nod.

"Very well." Grandma ladled the spoon into the bowl and held the steaming concoction out to him.

Scott regarded the spoon's contents as if it was liquid Alsterene and he was OD60.

"Are you sure you're ready for this, honey?"

Still glaring at the soup as if daring it to make the first move, Scott nodded.

Grandma waited.

Slightly cross-eyed as he stared down the sustaining liquid in a silent challenge, Scott opened his mouth.

Assuming that this was his invitation to do so, Grandma popped the spoon in. Her grandson's lips closed about the handle and she withdrew it again.

She hesitated before refilling, watching him closely.

Scott hadn't swallowed. He sat there as if he couldn't decide which direction the soup should now travel. Finally, and with an obvious effort, he forced himself to swallow.

The net result was the same as liquid Alsterene meeting OD60.

"Oh, dear!" Grandma exclaimed as Brains and Kyrano converged with damp cloths and towels. She accepted one and wiped down her front, before deciding that it was more prudent to discard her apron.

Scott's expression was apologetic as well as green. "S'rry, Grandma."

"Now, don't you worry about this little mess, Scott. You just lie back and rest."

"Bu' I wanna 'elp."

"I know, and as soon as you're feeling well enough I shall expect you to help. In the meantime you can help by taking care of yourself."

Scott nodded, settled back into the pillows, closed his eyes, and swallowed.

"Mother?"

Throwing the apron into the linen basket, Grandma approached her son. "Yes, Jeff?"

"Did I hear you say that there was some chicken soup on offer?"

"Do you want more? You've just had a bowl full."

Jeff grinned. "Mother, even if I was at death's door, I'd ask you to give me a flask of it. That way if I wound up in the other place, I'd still have a bit of heaven with me."

"Flatterer," she chuckled. "Just give me a minute." She bustled out of the room. Having had a wash and donned a clean apron, she started preparing the soup...

And nearly dropped the bowl when a figure flashed up in front of her. "Land sakes, John! We've already run out of beds. There's none left for me if you give me a heart attack!"

"Sorry, Grandma." John watched as she ladled some of the thick creamy liquid from out of a steaming pot. "I almost wish I was down there and had the flu so I could have some of that."

"I'll make you some when you come home, honey."

He smiled. "Thanks."

After transferring another ladleful, she glanced up at his image. "Did you want something?"

"No. I was just wondering if I could help in any way."

"Help doing what?" This time his grandmother stared at him for longer. "You can't exactly carry the tray for me." She picked up the full bowl and went back into the sickroom, narrowly managing to avoid wearing more soup as she dodged Brains leaving the ward.

John's image popped back up in place of the palm trees. "Well don't forget that I did make the offer when I'm back on Earth."

"I won't." Grandma placed the bowl in front of her son, and watched fondly as he picked up his spoon and dipped in with an eagerness the belied the readings on the panel above his bed.

John was determined to be part of the nursing of his family. And if he couldn't do anything practical then the least he could do was try to raise everyone's spirits. "Did you know that chicken soup was considered to be an aphrodisiac during the Middle Ages?"

"An aphrodisiac?" Jeff regarded the bowl of tasty goodness that had been placed before him. "I can't say that's going to be much use to me." With a shrug, he continued eating.

There was a thump.

John tried, and failed, to see around the corner. "What happened?" He disappeared from that picture frame, reappearing in another farther down the room.

Tin-Tin, in the process of mopping Virgil's brow and keeping well away from his sweaty hands, sighed as Kyrano struggled with a heavy weight. "Scott's tried to get out of bed again."

"Al'n want'd..." Scott's wayward finger was pointing somewhere in the vicinity of the ceiling.

"I'm sure he did..." Tin-Tin dropped the sweat-stained cloth into a bowl. "Let me help you, Father."

"Be careful, my child. He is heav..."

 _Heavy_ Kyrano was about to say, and Tin-Tin discovered just how heavy Scott was when together they overbalanced and she fell backwards onto his bed, the invalid landing face down on top of her.

"Looks like the chicken soup's working," John snickered. He saw his grandmother's glare and decided that it was prudent to leave them to it. He disconnected his link with Earth.

"Scott..." Tin-Tin pushed against what appeared to be a dead weight that was pinning her to the bed. "Get off me, Scott!"

"T'n-T'n..." Alan forced himself upright. He may have been dying but he wasn't about to let that stop him from coming to the aid of a damsel in distress… especially _his_ damsel! Determined to uphold International Rescue's creed and save his girlfriend's honour by coming to her rescue, he managed to sit up. "'m comin', T'n-T'n." Through sheer force of will he pushed himself to the side of the bed...

And promptly collapsed onto the floor.

Still enjoying his chicken soup, Jeff had been watching the drama. With Brains out of the room and everyone else struggling to extricate Tin-Tin from underneath his eldest son, he decided that it was time to do his parental duty. He placed the bowl on his bedside table, threw back the bedclothes, swung his legs around until he was sitting on the side of the bed, and took a deep breath.

Then he stood.

The world spun and he reached out for the bedside cabinet to steady himself, breathing heavily. Once the vertigo had passed, he took a shaky step forward, relieved to realise that the floor wasn't rushing up to claim him. Keeping well clear of the grunts and groans and flailing feet next to him, he took another step. Pleased with this achievement, he rewarded himself with a third... And then a fourth.

His fifth step was as successful as the first four, but then he reached a challenge. He had to negotiate the corner of Scott's bed.

Taking another deep breath, he pivoted on his foot and turned the required 90 degrees. Bringing his right foot smartly to attention, he managed to avoid spinning out onto the mêlée that was happening on his left. Pleased that he'd successfully completed that tricky manoeuvre, he decided that the only way that he was going to survive the next few minutes was by treating the whole experience as an exercise in drill. Issuing commands to his body from inside his head, he marched forward four steps, left turned, took a further two steps and halted.

In his attempts to get to his feet, Alan had managed to pull all his bedclothes off the bed. Red faced, rheumy eyed, and with his hair sticking out at all angles, he looked up at his father. "Help me, Dad."

Deciding that he needed to conserve all his energy for the next manoeuvre, Jeff didn't respond. Instead, he reached down to his son, intending to take a moment to brace himself before helping him back on to the bed.

With typical impatience and the expectation that his strong, invincible, always-there-to-support-him dad would not let him down, Alan grabbed his father's hand and pulled. Jeff, although further through the disease than Alan, was still weak. Overbalanced, he flew over his son, nose-diving onto the cold hard floor, his landing cushioned by the pillow. He found himself stunned, but otherwise unharmed in a crumpled heap in the middle of an equally crumpled mound of sheets.

"Dad?" Bewildered, Alan eyeballed his father. "Whatcha doin'?" He rubbed his arm. "Why'd ya kick me?"

Fighting against piles of linen that seemed intent on sending him skidding across the easy-wash floor, Jeff tried to sit up. "Sorry, Alan."

Alan regarded him with a look that spoke volumes about the pain of the younger man's betrayal by his father and the associated injury.

There was a tsking sound and both men looked up to see Grandma glaring down at them, her hands on her hips. "What _are_ you two doing down there?"

"Was goin' to help..." Alan pointed to the bed next door, and was surprised to realise that Scott was occupying it again and that an unmolested Tin-Tin was smoothing down the sheets. Frowning, he let his hand drop to his side.

"Oh you were, were you? It's bad enough that your brother won't stay in bed, Alan. Why can't you set him a good example?"

The events of the last few minutes, capped by being told that he was expected to set _Scott_ of all people an example, seemed to cause Alan's feverish brain undue strain. A bead of sweat dripped down his temple.

Kyrano appeared at the foot of the bed with a wheelchair. "If you would care to sit in here, Mister Alan, we will remake your bed."

Alan was still having difficult comprehending. An unfocused gaze swivelled in the direction of the wheelchair. "Wha'?"

Kyrano locked the brakes and stepped forward. "Permit me to help you, Mister Alan." Intending to assist the younger man to stand, he put his arm about Alan's shoulders.

Alan grimaced as contact was made with a recently formed bruise, resurrecting a memory. "Dad kicked me."

Kyrano heaved him upright. "I am sure that was not his intention."

"Hurt."

"He is sorry."

"I am, Alan." Once again, Jeff attempted to regain his feet, but, once again, Alan's discarded sheets refused to give him purchase. He groaned in frustration and took a moment to evaluate his situation.

"And just what were _you_ trying to do?" his mother demanded, whipping away those sheets that were unencumbered by her son's weight.

Jeff rolled onto his knees before, using Alan's bed for support, pulling himself upright. "Help Alan get off the floor."

You should be resting!" Grandma claimed the last of the bedclothes.

"I know."

She felt his forehead. "You've still got a fever."

"I know."

"Then let's get you back to bed."

Trying not to lean on his elderly mother more than was necessary, Jeff allowed her to escort him back to the embrace of freshly laundered sheets. He picked up his bowl and looked into it without enthusiasm. "My chicken soup's cold."

"I'll heat it up for you." Even better than her word, she was back a short time later with a freshly made bowl of the aromatic delicacy. "There you are, honey."

Jeff managed a wry grin. "International Rescue saves the day again."

"Don't mention International Rescue!" she warned. "You'll only jinx us."

"Sorry… Say, Mother...?"

"Yes, Jeff?"

"Since I'm well enough to get up, do you think you could get me my briefcase?"

"NO!" Gathering together yet another load of washing Grandma departed for the laundry.

Tin-Tin and her father, having just changed Gordon's bed linen and with the intention of making a start on Virgil's, were heading for the laundry themselves when Brains bustled back into the room. He stopped Tin-Tin, catching her by the arm as he surveyed the row of occupied hospital beds. "We, er, have a problem."

"A problem?" Tin-Tin placed the full basket on the floor and stared at him. "Is it serious?"

His face grim, Brains nodded. He indicated the washing. "Dispose of that as quickly as you can and meet me in the lounge."

 _To be continued…_


	2. International Resc-Two

**International Res-two**

 _ **But not out!**_

"Brains?" Tin-Tin, her load of influenza-laden, Tracy-soaked washing hastily dumped in the laundry, hurried into the lounge, accompanied by her father. "What is wrong?"

"What we feared most of all has happened…" His thick spectacles magnifying his eyes, Brains looked up from where he was taking notes on a tablet PC.

Tin-Tin felt her body grow cold and her heart start to pound.

"…And there is nothing we can do about it."

"Nothing?"

"It could be the first time that we have failed… _I_ have failed!"

"But surely…"

Brains looked glum. "I can't do anything to help except, perhaps, make it easier for them…"

"Don't talk like that!" Tin-Tin scolded. "I'm sure there is a solution. There must be!"

Brains' shrug was a clear reflection of the helplessness he felt.

"But we are International Rescue!"

Brains exploded with uncharacteristic anger. "And that means nothing! We have all this technology around us and it's all useless! And they had their whole lives ahead of them…" He sighed. "I feel so helpless."

So did Tin-Tin as she twisted the cloth of her lab coat about her fingers. "What can they expect?" She shared a worried glance with her father.

"Increased difficulty breathing, until their bodies shut down through oxygen deprivation."

Tin-Tin felt tears prickling at her eyes and she blinked them away. She was a strong, independent woman and not a little girl, and she was _not_ about to give into weakness. "There must be something we can do to help. The Tracys wouldn't give up and neither shall we." Her proud father looked at her in quiet admiration.

"I am s-sorry, but th-there is n-nothing we can do."

"There must be!"

"My Tin-Tin is correct," Kyrano stated. "You are a man of great intellect, Mister Brains. I am sure that if you were to breathe quietly and think, you will discover the solution."

"Yes!" Tin-Tin agreed.

Defeated, Brains hung his head. "No."

Unable to take it any longer, Tin-Tin, grabbed International Rescue's resident medical man's arm. "Brains! Tell us. What is wrong with the Tracys?"

Brains blinked at her. His spectacles slipped down his nose as he frowned, taking on the appearance of a genuine absent-minded professor. "The Tracys?"

"Are we at risk also?" Kyrano asked. "Is this malaise caused by something other than influenza, or is it a prior unknown complication of the disease?"

"What?"

"Think, Brains. Think!" Tin-Tin entreated. "There must be a cure!"

"No, no, no." He shook his head and, horrified, she allowed her hand to release his arm and drop to her side.

"Perhaps I should explain?" Tin-Tin and her father looked up, noting for the first time that John was staring down at them from his portrait on the wall. "There's nothing wrong with the family… Well, nothing apart from five doses of the flu. What's got Brains tied up in knots is that International Rescue has had a call out."

"Oh…" Tin-Tin let out a sigh of relief. "Good." She then realised that her relief was misplaced. "I mean it's not good that someone is in trouble, but it is good that the Tracys aren't ill. I mean they are ill, and that's not good, but it's good that it's not serious. The Tracys' illness, I mean, not the fact that someone's in trouble and International Rescue can't go to help." Deciding that she was in a deep enough hole, she stopped digging. "What kind of call out?"

"What's going on?" Grandma bustled into the room. "Why are you all in here?"

"International Rescue's been called out," John told her.

"I told you that talking about International Rescue would jinx us!" Grandma folded her arms and stared down her grandson. "Give us the worst, John. What's happened?"

"A school party of" – John checked his notes – "twenty students, four teachers and a guide were visiting an underground mine. It's one that's been decommissioned for decades and is only used for educational purposes. I don't have details of the cause, but the portal of the mine and the adit have collapsed. The school party were nowhere near the cave in and are unharmed; however, two of the students are suffering from asthmatic attacks as a result of the dust and stress."

"Serious attacks?" Tin-Tin asked.

"One: very," John told her.

Grandma's steadying presence seemed to have calmed Brains and he scribbled on his tablet. "Do they have their, ah, inhalers with them?"

"The one who's not affected as seriously does, which is, I guess, why they're not as bad as the other. But they're on different medications."

Brains made another note. "I'm not inclined to suggest sharing the inhaler."

"No. Neither am I. The regular rescue authorities say that under normal circumstances they'd be able to rescue the group within 24 hours. But that kid might not have 24 hours and if they do, they're both going to be mighty uncomfortable. That's why they've called us."

"How would we normally rescue them?" Grandma asked. "The Mole?"

"Yes."

"I can drive the Mole."

Everyone stared at Grandma.

"Virgil taught me," she continued. "Years ago his father had some notion about me being _never too old to learn_. I think he had some silly idea that he was helping me from going senile by keeping my brain active."

Wondering exactly who was going senile, the others regarded her as if she'd just announced that she was capable of flying to the danger zone by using no form of propulsion or lift other than by flapping her arms.

"There's nothing to it!" She humphed. "I know that to hear the boys talk you'd think it's a highly skilled, technical exercise, but it's not. You just enter the coordinates, push forward on the accelerator and everything happens automatically. To exit, you just slap it into reverse."

"She..." John cleared his throat to suppress the squeak that his vocal chords, too shocked to work properly, had squeezed out. "She's right."

Grandma gave a satisfied nod. "So! How are we going to get there?" She regarded Tin-Tin with a steely eye. "You could fly Thunderbird Two."

Tin-Tin had this sudden, delightful image of a group of children being rescued solely by girl power. This would show those men that she was more than just a pretty face, capable of using a typewriter and not much else. "Yes, I could."

Her gender-specific dreams were quashed when Grandma turned to Brains. "We'll need your expertise to treat those two sick mites."

Not about to let her dream vanish into nothing, Tin-Tin was quick to offer her assistance. "I'll help, Brains."

The engineer's eyes were as round as his spectacles as he tried to get his vast brain to comprehend what was being suggested.

"But, if there are 25 people to be rescued," Tin-Tin mused, "and two require ambulatory care, we are going to need more than one trip in the Mole. We can't leave one group alone in the mine while we rescue the others."

Kyrano inclined his head. "Perhaps I should attend too? To calm those left behind after those who are injured are removed to safety?"

"Good." Grandma, pleased with the way that the plan was coming together, turned to her stunned grandson. "You'll have to supply me with the correct coordinates and drilling angles, John."

"Uh... Ah..." With an effort, John switched his brain back on. "Are you sure you want to do this, Grandma?"

Folding her arms, she glowered at him. "Do you expect me to sit back here in comfort and let those poor children suffer and possibly die?! Not while I can help them!" She narrowed her eyes in a look that John rightly took to mean that she was dangerously close to reneging on her promise to dish up chicken soup on his return. "Are you with us?"

Feeling that it was not only his chicken soup that was being threatened, John responded with an ingratiating grin. "With you? Of course I'm with you, Grandma. But..."

Her eyebrows drew close and down into a vortex of displeasure, daring him to offer an argument. "But… what?"

Chancing that he was about to lose not only chicken soup, but apple pie as well, John took a breath. "What about Dad and the rest of them? Are they well enough to be left alone?"

"Your family are still weak," Kyrano agreed. "They need assistance with many..." He hesitated, about to broach a delicate matter in the presence of members of the gentler sex. "Things."

Having spent the last week nursing five Tracy men through phase two, Tin-Tin wasn't as reticent as her father. "We could put them into Disaster Diapers."

Kyrano approved of her suggestion. Disaster Diapers had been developed to be worn by International Rescue's operatives at times when an emergency situation wouldn't allow for taking time out to attend to nature's needs.

While this unsavoury, but necessary discussion had been going on, the various gears and cogs that made up the natural wonder that was Brains' brain had been ticking over. "I could sedate them."

Surprised, John stared at him. "Even Dad? He seems too well to be sedated."

Grandma snorted. "We'll give him his briefcase and let him work. Once he's got his mind fixated on Tracy business he's as good as sedated. A bomb could go off and he'd never notice."

"Are you happy with this, Brains?" John checked.

"I, er, I do have, ah, reservations about medicating unnecessarily," Brains admitted. "But your brothers are strong and healthy, aside from the influenza. Sedating them is a lesser evil than letting those children suffer."

"Okay."

"Can you, ah, contact those trapped?"

"The underground phone system is still working."

"Good. Ask if anyone has any tea with them. Coffee will work, but tea is better."

The image on the wall frowned. "Tea?"

"Ask them to give it to the afflicted ch-children. The theophylline in the tea can act as a bronchodilator to open the bronchial tubes. It is not a cure, but it may alleviate the symptoms. Make sure it is, ah, not too hot."

"F-A-B, Brains." John turned away to make his call.

Rubbing her hands together in excitement, Grandma turned back to the others in the room. "We can't go out on a rescue dressed as we are."

Kyrano bowed his head. "I am afraid that I do not possess a uniform of Inter-national Rescue."

Not willing to let such trivialities beat them, Grandma gave an airy wave of her hand. "Don't let that worry you. Just get something that is comfortable and will allow you to move freely."

"Yes, Mrs Tracy."

"We can get dressed during the flight," Tin-Tin stated. "We'll meet in Thunderbird Two in ten minutes."

Delighted by the idea of attending an actual rescue, everyone responded with an enthusiastic: "F-A-B".

-F-A-B-

Most of the group assembled on the flight deck of International Rescue's transporter nine point nine two minutes later.

Carrying a large basket on her arm, Grandma surveyed the group. "Aren't we all here yet?"

"Not yet, Mrs Tracy," Kyrano confirmed. "We are still waiting for Mister Brains."

"Well, I hope he doesn't take too long. We can't leave those poor, poor children suffering in the cold and damp of a dark underground mine." Trying to find a place to store her basket during launch, Grandma opened up a locker. "What has Virgil got in here!?"

Tin-Tin had a look. "I think that's where he and Scott hide the practical jokes they've confiscated from Gordon..." She opened another locker. "You can put your basket in here."

"Thank you." The basket was stowed away and Grandma looked at her watch. "Where is that young man? We're wasting time!"

Grandma's concerns were unfounded as Brains, having ensured that all five of his patients were comfortable and unaware that they were about to be deserted, bustled onto the flight deck. His International Rescue uniform was scrunched up into a ball and shoved under his arm. "A-Are we all here?"

"All here and waiting for you," Grandma told him.

"Good." Brains shoved his clothes under a seat and sat down.

Fixing him with a disapproving glare, Grandma held the locker door open.

With a sheepish grimace, Brains stored his uniform next to her basket.

"I have selected pod five," Tin-Tin announced. "Are we all ready for launch?"

Kyrano was examining his seat. "There does not appear to be a safety harness present."

"Just sit down, Father. Thunderbird Two will hold you in place."

"How?"

Tin-Tin, more concerned about checking the radar, didn't respond.

But Brains did, much to Kyrano's misfortune. "Thunderbird Two's safety systems are based on the bonding properties of all systems at a molecular level. Just as an electron is held in close proximity to its nucleus by the neutrally charged neutrons and positively charged protons exerting nuclear forces, so Thunderbird Two takes advantage of the electromagnetic radiation exuded by all molecules to restrain the aforementioned molecules in a position that limits the amount of lateral and vertical movement exerted as demonstrated by Newton's laws of motion."

Kyrano didn't know what to make of the explanation, and Brains' talk of _nuclear forces_ and _electromagnetic radiation_ had him slightly worried.

"Thunderbird Two sucks you onto your seat so you can't move," Tin-Tin told him, and started the mighty transporter rolling out onto the runway.

The early afternoon sun pierced the cockpit windows, which almost instantaneously darkened to cut out the glare. Outside, the world looked idyllic as waves washed against the golden sands and a gentle breeze caressed the palm trees.

With a bass growl that sent the sand and pebbles on the runway dancing and gulls flying, their screeches of protest adding to the cacophony, Thunderbird Two rumbled forward.

In the cabin, soundproofed against the auditory pollution, Grandma surveyed the scene. "It's a lovely day for a flight."

Almost as if it was angry at the great monster's disruption of its peaceful haven, a gull flew arrow-straight at Thunderbird Two's windscreen. Avoiding the inevitable collision with a last minute upwards roll, it bombed the viewing area, leaving a great white splodge, dotted with nameless bits of fish guts, splattered across the glass. Thunderbird Two retaliated by shooting a jet of water after the bird before redirecting the stream to wash the detritus away, followed by a blast of warm air to ensure that no droplets remained to obscure the pilot's view.

Kyrano watched, impressed. "Do you think you could adapt such a system for the villa's windows, Mister Brains? It would save much work."

Brains grunted.

Thunderbird Two located her launch pad and stopped.

There was a breathless pause.

The hydraulics beneath the launch ramp bench-pressed the 400,000 kilogram machine to the sky.

There was a soft bump, a mild curse, and a slithering sound.

Tin-Tin looked behind her to see Brains sitting on the floor, sliding in the direction of the rear of the cabin. He hit the back wall and reddened at seeing three sets of eyes staring at him. "I-I-I was reaching for a tablet." He held up the computer before tucking it down the front of his shirt, rolling onto all fours, and crawling back up the incline.

Once she was certain that he was safely adhered to his seat and that the two older members of their crew were sitting comfortably, Tin-Tin hit the power button.

A hot wave of superheated air rolled out from under Thunderbird Two's tail along with a sonic cyclone that assaulted recipients' auditory receptors and gassed everything within range as it sent more gulls flying.

Two's passengers found themselves forced back into their seats as gravity made a feeble attempt to keep them at ground level.

The mighty craft pounced into the sky.

Grandma turned to Kyrano at her side, her eyes bright and sparkling. "Isn't this thrilling!?"

 _Thrilling_ was not the adjective that Kyrano was thinking of as he tried to unlock his jaw muscles. Convinced that he must have punched holes through the seat's tough material, he tried to release his fingernails from where they were embedded into his chair.

If Grandma was aware of his discomfort, she wasn't about to ease it. "Do you think Virgil would let me fly Thunderbird Two someday? After all, Jeff let me drive the Mole and I had no experience of anything similar, but I can fly a plane, so a Thunderbird can't be too much different, can it, Tin-Tin? ... Tin-Tin?"

Tin-Tin pretended not to hear her.

"I'm sure there's nothing to it, especially since I've got decades of flight experience. I mean... how difficult can it be?"

Everyone else decided that it was safer not to comment on her ramblings.

John, who had been keeping a silent watch over Tin-Tin's piloting, finally spoke. "What's your ETA, Thunderbird Two?"

Tin-Tin glanced at him. "Roughly half an hour."

"Roughly half an hour? Virgil would have given me his arrival time right down to the nearest nanosecond."

"I am not Virgil." Pursing her lips, Tin-Tin made a quick calculation. "Two seven point eight three three, recurring, minutes."

John grinned. "I've got the timer running."

Brains, glad to steer well clear of Grandma's plans for a bit of excitement in the future, spoke up. "If we've only got, ah, 27 minutes to get ready, hadn't we better, er, get changed?"

"Good idea, Brains," Tin-Tin conceded. "You can go first. I will put Thunderbird Two on autopilot while I get dressed, but I would like you standing by in case we run into problems."

"No, you go." Brains pulled his uniform from out of the locker. "I can get changed in here."

"I could mind Thunderbird Two while you both get changed," Grandma offered.

Tin-Tin grabbed Mrs Tracy's basket and dragged her to the locker rooms.

When everyone had returned to the flight deck five minutes later, they were all clothed in the closest representation of International Rescue's distinctive uniform that they could find in their wardrobes. Tin-Tin was wearing her own version, that which she had worn during the dramatic Sun Probe rescue. Kyrano's contribution was an outfit similar to his traditional dress in sky blue. Brains had taken the time he was alone minding the autopilot to don his International Rescue uniform, complete with identifying brown sash.

The three of them did a double take when they saw Mrs Tracy.

She had arrived back on in the cockpit wearing an authentic-looking sky-blue pants suit and, much to everyone's surprise, a scarlet sash and belt replete with International Rescue logo.

Brains gave Grandma a nervous grin. "I-I see you're dressed for the occasion." He was startled when, blushing, she gave a girlish giggle.

"We all should be." Reaching into her basket, she pulled out two more logo-decorated sashes, one pink, one maroon. "I made these in case Lady Penelope and Parker ever joined us on a rescue. You and Tin-Tin can decide who gets which colour, Kyrano."

Kyrano handed the pink sash to his daughter.

Grandma giggled again and smoothed down her sash. "I made it as a bit of fun when I was sewing the boys' uniforms. I never thought I'd get the chance to wear it for real." She eyed up the empty pilot's seat. "I'm wearing a genuine International Rescue uniform. Surely that must mean that I'm entitled to fly Thunderbird Two?"

Tin-Tin made a grab for the control yoke and disengaged the autopilot.

"You're approaching danger zone, Thunderbird Two," John announced.

"Thank you, Thunderbird Five," Tin-Tin responded. "Would everyone please stow their bags and return to their seats, ensuring that they are in an upright position?"

Grandma opened the cupboard that had held her basket and glared at the clothes that were stuffed in there. "Brains!"

Colouring as scarlet as her sash, Brains grabbed the pile of clothes, hauled them out, folded them until he got a nod of approval, and replaced them carefully back into the cupboard.

"Landing to commence in ten seconds," Tin-Tin announced.

Grandma clapped her hands together. "This is so exciting!"

There was a burst of noise, a vibration ran through Thunderbird Two, smoke rolled up past the cockpit windows, and then all was still.

Tin-Tin smirked at John's video screen. "How did I do?"

"27 minutes 50 seconds on the dot," he told her with a grin. "You out-Virgiled Virgil."

"That's because even he could never out-calculate a mathematician."

Grandma was already out of her seat and retrieving her basket from the cupboard. "Right!" she announced. "You'd better start working out those coordinates, John Tracy." She looked around her. "How do we get to the Mole?"

Everyone considered directing her in the wrong way, before, reluctantly, Brains and Tin-Tin led the way down to the interior of Pod Five.

As eager as ever, Grandma hurried over to the large drilling machine. "Now…" she mused, as she did a slow circuit. "How do you get in?"

Brains shared a worried glance with Tin-Tin, stepped up to a keypad, and typed in the access code.

They weren't one hundred percent relieved when, without hesitation, Grandma made a beeline for the Mole's controls. "Store my basket somewhere safe, would you?" she ordered, shoving it into Brains' hands.

Brains, who had been hovering at her shoulder in a state of suppressed panic, swallowed and did as he was told.

Running her fingers over the controls, Grandma reacquainted herself with the mechanisms that would send the mighty machine rolling. "Easy," she cackled. "Now to get things moving…" She reached out to punch in the start code and stopped. "John?"

"Erm…" There was the barest hint of trepidation in John's voice. "Yes, Gran…" He decided that he needed to do all he could to keep his thoughts away from the fact that it was his grandmother who was about take control on one of the most devastating machines in International Rescue's arsenal. "...er, Mole?"

"I've forgotten. What's the start code?"

John went cold. This was it! His one chance to save his grandma and friends from danger. His one chance to save International Rescue from the ignominy of defeat and the horror of a botched rescue. His one chance…

He thought of the children trapped in an airless mine. "I'll start it remotely."

A soft hum filled the vehicle.

"Thank you, John."

"Ah… Erm… Mole..."

"Yes."

"For the sake of professionalism and security, you'd better call me Thunderbird Five."

Grandma could see his point. "Of course, Thunderbird Five, you are quite correct." She turned in her seat. "And that goes for everyone! From now on we'll call each other by our initials. You can call me _Mrs T_." Not waiting to hear any affirmation from the numb group behind her, she turned back to the control and flipped a switch marked "UP".

To those inside the Mole, nothing happened.

Grandma, however, was more than happy to see a green light appear on the console. "Thunderbird Two's out of the way," she chirruped. "Time to lower the pod door."

Another green light appeared.

"Requesting coordinates and drilling angles, Thunderbird Five."

Hoping against hope that he wasn't about to make a mistake bigger than the universe and send International Rescue's reputation down the hole that was going to be drilled, John quoted a series of numbers and then double-checked that they'd been entered properly. "You're clear to exit the pod, Mole."

"Thank you, Thunderbird Five." Grandma pushed forward on the twin steering sticks and those in the rear of the craft felt a jolt, a bump, and an increasing vibration, before the front of the room pointed downward and their gimballed seats swayed up away from gravity's pull.

Kyrano and Tin-Tin held hands. Neither of them sure who was reassuring whom.

Brains gnawed his lip.

The room rocked back to the horizontal, but they could still feel their momentum continue forward.

"Approaching drilling zone," Grandma announced.

They stopped moving.

"Initiating drill."

A new vibration filled the craft, which began to tilt...

Feeling the vibrations increase to what he considered a frightening level, Kyrano leant closer to Tin-Tin's ear, stretching to reach it as their gimballed seats changed angle. "Is this amount of shaking considered normal?"

Unwilling to answer in case she gave voice to some of the fear she was trying to subdue, his daughter gave him a comforting smile and patted his clinging hand.

She was about to ask Brains the exact same question when things appeared to settle down. She let out a sigh of relief that she hoped went unheard by their driver up the front.

Her father did not share her relief and almost jumped out of his maroon sash when a panel descended from the ceiling and a face appeared on it.

"Everyone okay?" John asked. He received three mute nods in reply.

"Permit me to ask," Kyrano began, "but is that creaking noise normal for this machine?"

John frowned as he tried to make out the sound over the video link. Deciding that maybe a joke would calm their fears, he grinned. "Can you hear Grandma's bones creaking?"

"I heard that, young man!"

"Oops!" John ducked his head and lowered his voice. "She's got ears as big as the Arecibo radio telescope."

"I heard that too!"

John, certain that he had no hope of ever slurping up her chicken soup again, looked depressed. "You're making good time," he announced, optimistic that his praise might appease his grandmother somewhat.

She made no comment.

"Everyone know what they are doing?"

More mute nods.

"Everyone know where everything is?"

Two mute nods and a querying frown from Kyrano.

The pitch of the noise about them lowered in tone and then stopped.

"We're here," Grandma called.

"You've made good time, Mole," John congratulated, wondering at the incongruity of calling his grandmother a "Mole."

His unflappable grandma, behaving as if she hadn't just drilled a giant hole in the ground with a 12 tonne machine, stood and slapped her hands together in satisfaction. "Well? What are you all waiting for? Let's get moving!" She looked about her as the others tested to see whether their wobbling legs would hold them. "Where's my basket?"

Wondering what was so important about the carrier, Brains retrieved it from the locker where he'd stored it.

Tin-Tin began handing various pieces of medical equipment to her father, much of which was collected by Brains before it had a chance to settle in the elder man's arms. By the time Tin-Tin had retrieved that last item that she and Brains thought they'd need, Kyrano's hands were empty. "May I carry something?" he asked.

"The oxygen cylinder." Brains nodded towards a gas bottle mounted within a frame.

Kyrano bowed. "Very good." Behind him the hatch opened and the others stepped out into the mine.

Kyrano attempted to follow, intent on bringing the oxygen cylinder with him. However, the cylinder and its frame seemed reluctant to join everyone and everything else. He examined the setup. The cylinder appeared to be securely welded into the framework of heavy steel tubing and he could see no way of removing it for easy transportation.

Bemused, he looked about him, hopeful of finding a trolley or something with wheels that would enable him and the vital oxygen to escape.

There was nothing.

Kyrano scratched his head.

"Father?"

Kyrano was surprised, and pleased, to realise that Tin-Tin was standing at his side. "I thought that we had agreed that I was to be called _K_ while on duty?"

"Sorry, um, _K_ ," his daughter apologised. "Why are you taking so long?"

He indicated the cylinder. "I cannot move it."

With a rueful "tsk", Tin-Tin pressed a button. The oxygen tank and its encompassing metalwork rose up into the air. "It is in a hoverframe."

Kyrano gave the unit an experimental push with his hand and it floated forward. Delighted, he beamed at his daughter. "Could we not ask Mister Brains to create something similar for transporting the groceries and other items from the delivery plane?"

With more important things to think about, Tin-Tin hurried away.

Taking his first step out of the Mole, Kyrano looked about him. Despite what he'd imagined, the mine wasn't as claustrophobic as he had expected. It was warm, well lit, and dry and appeared to have been set up as a kind of theatre for showing footage of mining activities and talks by experts knowledgeable in the history of the complex.

Then he noticed what appeared to be two distinct groups of people. The first, to his left and close to a video screen, was a group of laughing teenagers, Mrs Tracy, and another adult. To his right was another group of adults, Tin-Tin, Brains, and, hidden in the middle of it all, the ailing children.

As he guided the oxygen closer to the second group, Kyrano wondered if they were children. Someone seemed to have exaggerated the severity of the situation to encourage International Rescue to help. Then, as he steered the cylinder towards Brains, he realised that there was one part of the story that hadn't been exaggerated. Two teenagers, both boys, were gasping through the International Rescue logoed breathing masks that were misty with Brains' bronchodilators.

Without a word of thanks, although Kyrano knew his efforts were appreciated, Brains took the oxygen cylinder and started piping its contents into the masks, mixing the gases together.

Kyrano wasn't sure, but he thought that both boys were already breathing easier.

Feeling that there were enough redundant people clustered around the two patients, he wandered over to the larger, more boisterous group, wondering how he was going to keep 18 teenagers occupied while the Mole made its trip back up to the surface. As he drew closer, he mused that he was counting 19 teenagers of all ages and stages and only one adult – a tally which didn't correspond with what they'd been told before they set out.

Arriving at the more active group, he nodded to Mrs Tracy before giving the people in front of him further analysis. There were, he confirmed, 18 teenagers and two older people, one male and one female. Moreover, the group had been roughly divided into two. The first section was made up of the female adult, the girls, and a couple of the younger boys.

The second group was headed by a male who appeared to be not much older than the teenagers. The way that this 'adult' was larking about with his group, and the aggrieved looks his associate was giving him, led Kyrano to believe that he was in fact a sibling rather than a dutiful parent. The idolising looks that one of the younger boys was giving the young man seemed to confirm that this was indeed an elder brother. It was a look that Kyrano had seen many times over the years.

But he'd never seen a Tracy behave like such an idiot.

"Way-hey!" the young man chortled. "We've got International Rescue's top man on the job, have we?"

As the young man's followers dutifully laughed, Kyrano smiled politely and turned to Mrs Tracy, who was opening her basket. He could smell the rich aromatic scent of warm, sweet, goodness.

Grandma Tracy's biscuits.

"Go on," she said, holding her basket out in the middle of the group. "You can each take two of Grandma's Chocolate Chip Cookies."

"Mmn." One of the younger boys crammed his first biscuit into his mouth and then reached for another. "These are minty."

"I know. I'm trying a new recipe." Adept at catching out thieving boys of all ages, Grandma slapped at the hand that was stealing into the basket for a third biscuit. "Leave some for the others," she scolded as she straightened and put the lid back on the biscuit box.

But not everyone was eating.

Off to one side of the group sat a young girl. Judging by her white face and stiff posture, it was only the close proximity of the girl at her side and the iron grip she had of the other's hand that was stopping her from turning into a hysterical mess. She had not touched a biscuit and neither had her friend, probably out of loyalty and possibly because she'd lost the use of her fingers.

"Are you all members of International Rescue?" another teenage girl asked.

Kyrano bowed. "We are."

"I always heard that International Rescue was made up of young men," someone stated.

"Handsome young men," one of the girls sighed, and the International Rescue operatives noticed an air of wistful disappointment float through the female members of the group.

Grandma laughed. "You don't think that we do _all_ the work do you?" she teased. "There are occasions when we need assistance at rescues. When that happens we call out the reserve team."

The teenagers looked at her with expressions that were easy to read as: _but you're old!_

The pseudo-adult gave a low whistle. "She can rescue me any time," he said, leering in the direction of the other group.

Kyrano turned and saw Tin-Tin walking towards them, accompanied by one of the teachers and the mine guide. After a general smile to the group, she spoke to her father in Malay to confirm that he had no concerns about remaining below ground.

Kyrano assured her that he had no qualms about being deserted.

The young man eyed Tin-Tin up and down. "Was that an earthquake or did you just rock my world?"

His younger brother and associated youths hooted and laughed.

Tin-Tin ignored them.

"My name's Doug." Doug lowered his voice to what he considered to be a seductive masculine growl. "That's _god_ spelled backwards with a little bit of you wrapped up in it."

Tin-Tin rolled her eyes.

"His name isn't really Doug," the female teacher confided to Mrs Tracy. "It's Melvyn."

"Melvyn?"

"Charlie's parents couldn't make it at the last minute, so they sent _him_ along in their place." The teacher's tone made it clear what she thought of the arrangement. "The kids have been less trouble."

"We can handle him," Mrs Tracy promised. "The Mole may not be as big as we thought and he'll have to wait here, alone, until the regular services can help him."

The teacher laughed.

Melvyn, unaware of the derision that he was receiving, clearly thought that he was in with a chance with Tin-Tin. "I hope you know CPR, baby," he leered, "because you're taking my breath away."

"CPR?" There was a wicked gleam in Grandma Tracy's eye. "If you need the kiss of life, boy, I've got years of experience."

Despite trying to maintain his cool in the face of titters and barely suppressed smirks, Melvyn appeared flummoxed by the offer. "Really?" he squeaked. "Thanks... erm... Mrs, but I'm good."

An "I'm better" crept onto Grandma's tongue and with an effort she held it back. She couldn't risk that she would tarnish International Rescue's reputation… no matter how tempting it was to bring this young whippersnapper back down to size.

But the older kids had no such hang-ups. "If she needs a dummy to practise on, Melvyn," one of them snickered, "are you gonna volunteer?"

Melvyn flushed in anger as those around him roared with laughter. Deciding that the only way he was going to regain his standing in the group was by making a score, he resumed his Casanovic assault on Tin-Tin. "I'll volunteer to help _you_ any day," he offered, sounding as sincere as The Hood stating that the only reason why he wanted International Rescue's secrets was so he could start up his own rescue organisation. "What's your call sign?"

Ignoring him, and still speaking in Malay, Tin-Tin told her father that Brains expected the first trip in the Mole to take about fifteen minutes.

" _Thank you, Tin-Tin."_

" _I am sorry that we have to leave you with this moron. If he had another brain it would be lonely."_

Kyrano, with admirable restraint, hid a smile.

Deciding that Tin-Tin's resistance to his winning charms was her way of challenging him to see if he measured up to the men of International Rescue, Melvyn decided to change tack. "How much does a polar bear weigh?" he asked. "Enough to break the ice?"

Tin-Tin's response to his inanity was suitably frozen.

"He's practising his pickup lines he picked up off the Internet," the lady teacher told Grandma. "He's about as deep as his reflection in a mirror."

Mrs Tracy bit back a laugh.

The wannabe suitor ran a preening hand through his hair, unaware that even his brother was beginning to feel embarrassed by his behaviour. He took Tin-Tin's hand. "Are you going to kiss me or do I have to lie about that part?"

Tin-Tin found herself wishing she was back in International Rescue's infirmary holding the somehow less sweaty hand of a virus-filled Tracy. She tried to pull free.

"Don't go," he oozed. "Tell you what. Let's have breakfast together tomorrow. Shall I call you or nudge you?"

"Melvyn!" a male teacher admonished.

Tin-Tin had learnt how to deal with many obnoxious men over the years and decided that now was the time to go onto the offensive with this one. She leant close as if she were about to whisper an intimate word into his ear. "I want you..." she said, her voice low, husky, and seductive… and audible to every member of the group.

Somewhat surprised that his never-fail lines had not failed, Melvyn gave a goofy grin.

"…to…"

Melvyn's grin became fixed, he paled, and he appeared to be struggling to maintain his dignity. A bead of sweat sprung up on his top lip.

Astonished by his daughter's behaviour and her wannabe suitor's reaction, Kyrano glanced down to where they were still holding hands, noticing that the latter's fingers were white and bloodless. Tin-Tin, Kyrano realised, was using an ancient self-defence technique that he'd taught her when she was a child. It was called _the_ _Tiger's_ _Paw_ and caused excruciating, if short-term, pain. It was ideal as an unobtrusive way of subduing unwanted suitors and Kyrano had to admit to some admiration at the way that Melvyn was holding it together.

"…remember…" Not showing any signs of the effort that went into creating the Tiger's Paw, Tin-Tin continued to exact her revenge. "… that…"

There was silence as she delivered the _coup de grace_.

"…my drill's bigger than yours."

Raucous laughter rang out through the group, the younger members a beat behind their elders as the innuendo flew right over their heads.

Tin-Tin let go of the lousy Lothario's sweaty hand and turned away. "We'll meet you in the Mole, Mrs T."

"F-A-B." Mrs Tracy struggled to subdue a smirk as Tin-Tin, desperate to find some hand sanitiser, returned to the drilling machine.

The subdued stud, annoyed that even his kid brother found his embarrassment and pain a source of amusement, as well as chastened that he'd been bested by a woman, went off in a huff; massaging the feeling back into his hand.

Making a point, Mrs Tracy clapped her own hands together. "Now," she began, "we are going to have to make two trips..."

The white-faced girl stiffened even more.

"...But we aren't going to have room to carry you all on the second trip," Grandma continued. "Therefore, we will have to take a couple of you when we transport your friends." She gestured to the temporary aid station behind her. "I think we'll make it," – pretending that her selection was completely random, she selected the white-faced girl and her friend – "you two."

Kyrano was relieved to see the white-faced girl relax a little.

"Shall we go and get you settled?" Grandma asked, and the friend was on her feet, cajoling the white-faced girl to follow her.

This left one member of International Rescue, 16 teenagers, and three adults, one of whom was sulking against the wall of the mine.

Kyrano bowed lowed. "Greetings," he said. "You may call me _K_. I will remain with you while the Mole takes your friends to the surface"

"You and that lady were talking a funny language," one of the younger boys told him.

Kyrano inclined his head. "To me the language was not funny."

"What language is it?"

"It is my own language."

"They are _International_ Rescue, Karl," the lady teacher told the lad. "I am sure their members are from many countries and speak many languages."

Kyrano smiled.

Inside the Mole, Grandma fussed about with the white-faced girl and her friend, making sure they were comfortable, aware that the ride back to the surface would only take a couple of minutes, and trying to get the former to relax. She was pleased to see that the white-faced girl regained some colour when she finally allowed herself to savour one of Grandma's Chocolate Chip Cookies.

"We are r-ready, Mrs T," Brains called.

"Good. Hold on everyone." Mrs Tracy slipped back into the driver's seat.

The white-faced girl blanched again.

True to her word, the reverse trip up to the world of daylight took less time than it took to eat one slice of Grandma's apple pies, and the two asthmatics were escorted outside and handed over to distraught parents and ambulance crews.

The white-faced girl was regaining her colour again as she thanked Grandma for looking after her. "I was sure we were going to die down there."

Grandma accepted the grateful hug. "Never! Not while International Rescue is in existence. Never give up under any circumstances. Remember that!"

She was rewarded with a smile that made her insides squirm in pleasure. "I won't. Thank you!"

Grandma watched as the girl ran away to her waiting friends and family. "Now I know why the boys get such a kick out of doing this."

Tin-Tin put a companionable arm about the older woman's shoulders. "The warm feeling it leaves is wonderful, isn't it?"

Moment of self-congratulation over, Grandma turned back to the Mole. "Come on. International Rescue hasn't finished yet."

Waiting inside the drilling machine, Brains had activated the radio. "Mole to Thunderbird Five."

John's grinning face appeared on screen. "I've gotta say you look nothing like Grandma, Brains."

Brains replied with a grin of his own. "That is something that I'm, ah, sure we're both glad of."

"What can I do for you?"

"I was just checking up on the patients at home."

John glanced away at another monitor. "Four are snoring and one's grumbling about the state of some stock."

"Good…" Brains glanced at the entrance hatch as Tin-Tin and Grandma re-boarded the Mole. "I-I anticipate that we should be home in under an hour."

John winked. "You'll have to get Tin-Tin to show you how to calculate your ETA to the nearest tenth of a second."

A wicked glint appeared behind Brains' spectacles. "If that is a, er, challenge, John, then I accept. Point nine two zero eight eight four of an hour."

John made a note. "55 minutes 15.302 seconds. The clock is ticking, Brains..."

-F-A-B-

Any concerns Kyrano had about entertaining a crowd of teenagers were dispelled when it became clear that they were interested in nothing except learning about his fabled organisation. He answered all questions truthfully, many of them with the stock reply: "I am sorry, but I can not answer that." It was an ideal answer, he decided, able to be used if he felt the question had the potential to betray International Rescue's secrets, _or_ if he genuinely didn't know the solution.

"Did you fly here in a Thunderbird?"

"I did."

"Which one?"

"Thunderbird Two."

"Was it exciting?"

"Yes. It was very exciting."

"Were you the pilot?"

"No. I was not the pilot."

"Can I join International Rescue when I leave school?"

"Work hard and you will achieve your goals."

"How many people work for International Rescue?"

"I am sorry, but I can not answer that."

"What happens to the soil that the Mole drills out of the ground?"

"I am sorry, but I can not answer that."

"How fast can Thunderbird Two fly?"

"I am sorry, but I can not answer that."

"Is it true that International Rescue's call sign is F-A-B?"

"This is true."

"What does F-A-B mean?"

"I am sorry, but I can not answer that."

After a while it became a game, with the youths parroting the answer before he had a chance to say it himself.

"I am sorry, but I can not answer that."

Fortunately the Mole returned before the game palled.

Mrs Tracy, Tin-Tin, and Brains vacated the giant drilling machine and joined the group.

"How are Mike and Jack?" asked one of the more responsible leaders of the group.

"Th-They are in the c-care of the p-professionals," Brains stuttered, unused to having so many eyes on them. "I d-do n-not anticipate a long s-stay in hospital." He glanced at his watch.

Mrs Tracy commanded the group's attention. "And now it's time for the rest of us to leave!" she stated. "So I would like you all to form two straight lines."

There were grumbles from some of the elder teenagers about being treated like children as they shuffled into place.

"Now, now..." Mrs Tracy cautioned. "This is a highly-developed, extremely technical machine. Only experts fully trained in its operation are able to use it safely, and we don't want you all rushing in there and knocking something with potentially catastrophic consequences. You will enter in pairs and be escorted to your seats before the next pair can board." She stood to one side and indicated the first pairing. "You two may begin."

The loading of the remaining 'victims' was proceeding smoothly when Tin-Tin slid up to her father. "All okay, K?" Her lips twitched in amusement.

"All is min-ty, T-T."

Tin-Tin laughed. "Did you have any problems with whatever his name is?"

"I am informed that his correct name is Melvyn." Kyrano's eyes twinkled. "Once you had swatted him with the Tiger's Paw, he was as docile as a cub full of its mother's milk."

Tin-Tin cracked her knuckles and glared over at Melvyn, who, boarding the Mole, was studiously avoiding Mrs Tracy's flirty wink. "He is the kind of person you would use as a blueprint to build an idiot."

"He is young. You have lived too many years with men whose maturity is more advanced than his to accept this."

"You are excusing him?!"

"No. I merely point out that the children are not the only ones to learn a great lesson today. I am sure that Mister Melvyn will remember your teachings for a good many years to come."

"Once he starts acting his age and not his shoe size."

-F-A-B-

The five minute trip to the surface was uneventful. The girls pressed Tin-Tin for tips about how to look great in the most disastrous of situations; the younger boys asked Brains all about the Thunderbirds craft; and the older boys, with their own lustful looks at Tin-Tin when they thought no one was looking, smirked and pointed at Melvyn, who sulked in the his seat and contemplated his dusty boots.

The drilling machine clambered out of its hole, tipped back into a horizontal orientation on its trolley and gave itself a shake like a dog to discard the loose soil and other material that clung to it.

It was with some relief that the rescuers of International Rescue discharged the last of their rescues, accepted the thanks of the victims, their families, and the authorities, and closed the Mole's door against the outside world.

Brains checked his watch.

"You did well, Mole," John told his grandmother as she slammed the great machine into reverse and sent it backing up the ramp and into Thunderbird Two's pod. "Congratulations on completing a successful rescue... Don't forget to sterilise your equipment before you close the pod door," he added, when he saw her prepare to stand. "The flu's bad enough. It would be worse if we brought some soil-borne disease to Tracy Island, and catastrophic if International Rescue infected some other country."

For the first time, Grandma looked unsure of herself. "Virgil didn't cover that," she admitted, as she sat down again. "What do I do?"

"See the button on your left marked _Steri-clean_?"

"Yes."

"Push that. It blasts jets of air that blows the last of the solid contaminants off the fuselage and out of the pod. Then you get a dose of steriliser. Once the button turns green, you're safe to exit the Mole and return home or fly anywhere else in the world."

She sighed. "There's such a lot to think about, isn't there?"

"Yep. That's why it's a _highly-developed, extremely technical machine_ and _only experts fully trained in its operation are able to use it_."

Grandma laughed as she heard her own words relayed back at her. "You were eavesdropping, John."

"Of course I was, in case you needed my advice. Not that you did. You should all be proud of yourselves."

He fancied that he saw his grandmother puff up at the compliment.

"How are your brothers?" she asked, keeping an eye open for the green light.

"They won't even know you've gone."

"And your father?"

"He's muttering something about some company or other, but otherwise seems happy."

"Good." The button turned green and she heard a sound from behind her.

Brains was already at the door. "We should be flying out as s-soon as possible. I, er…" He glanced at the person on the video screen. "I don't want to leave our patients unattended for any longer than necessary."

John smirked as, despite his better efforts, Brains looked at his watch.

As everyone settled into their seats for the flight home, there were none of the nerves that had accompanied the launch on the way out.

Grandma looked into her basket. "Anyone fancy a snack? I've still got some left."

Everyone decided that they were more than a little peckish and soon crumbs were being scattered about Thunderbird Two's flight deck.

Her biscuit clenched between her teeth, Tin-Tin ignited Thunderbird Two's VTOL jets.

"What's your ETA, Thunderbird Two?" John enquired.

Tin-Tin removed the biscuit. "Thirty minutes."

"Thirty minutes what?"

"Thirty minutes exactly."

"What?" John appeared surprised. "No point zero zero zero one?"

"No." Tin-Tin made the adjustment that turned Thunderbird Two for home. "Thirty point zero zero zero zero recurring minutes... Right, Brains?"

Brains checked his watch. "Exactly, Tin-Tin."

Kyrano settled back for the flight. "I do not feel like cooking tonight."

"No," Grandma agreed. "Neither do I."

"It is a pity that we can not stop somewhere and buy a meal to eat on our flight home."

Startled, Brains checked his watch.

"We are not stopping anywhere," Tin-Tin declared. "I have a deadline to meet."

Brains looked at his watch, did a quick calculation and, pleased with everything, settled back for a think.

When he'd first realised that they had a chance of succeeding in this rescue, he'd almost allowed himself to believe that this was the time when his deep-seated, never-voiced dream would come true. This was the time when he would be the hero. This was the time when he would be the one to receive the thanks and aching hand pumps along with never-ending words of eternal gratitude. This was the time when he would be the one to sweep the girl off her feet and into his arms, and she would be indebted to him for ever more.

And what did he wind up doing? Attaching oxygen masks to a couple of teenage boys.

He knew that it was churlish of him, but Brains felt that, once again, he'd been cheated out of his dream.

A dream where he would step out from the strong and handsome Tracys' shadows. A dream where he was the one who was brave and dashing. A dream where he was the one who rescued the beautiful damsel and was rewarded by her never-ending devotion...

" _Brains..." Her dark eyelashes batted over impossibly blue eyes as she pushed back a long, blonde curl. "Brains... I owe you my life."_

 _Brains gave a modest smile. "I did my duty. Nothing more."_

" _You are a hero."_

" _Not really."_

" _But you saved all those thousands of people with nothing more than a few calculations and a bit of hypothesising!"_

 _Brains gave a modest shrug. "It was nothing."_

" _But..." she sounded breathless; her voice enticing, "there must be some way I can thank you... repay you for what you've done for us all..." She looked deep into his eyes. "For me..." Her hand went to her collar, undoing the jacket's top buttons._

 _Brains stared at what was beneath. Was she really showing him that!? He struggled to look away and told himself that he must maintain International Rescue's code of conduct._

 _He nearly forgot International Rescue's code of conduct when she took his hand. "Surely I am allowed to thank you."_

" _I need no thanks. I am a member of International Rescue." He said it like a mantra, as if he was trying to remind himself of whom he was and what being a member of that organisation entailed. "It is an unwritten rule."_

" _Rules are made to be broken..."_

" _But…"_

" _Come with me." She led him through a door into a room._

 _They were alone._

 _With a sensuous movement, this beautiful woman with the enticing eyes and the come-hither voice stripped back the cloth that hid Brains' deepest desire..._

 _Revealing all to him…_

 _She was waiting for him…_

 _Brains swallowed. "It is my vocation to help others," he parroted._

 _Now the woman with the movie star looks was pulling his hand… Guiding him closer._

" _I have sworn to help those who cry out for help," he said, not really pulling back. "Just as the Tracys..."_

" _The Tracys!" She almost spat the name. "Without you they are nothing! It is you who brought International Rescue to life! And where are they today? Laid low by a common virus. They are only good for one thing and that was bringing us together..."_

 _Brains felt his fingertips touch that gorgeous body and a shiver of delight coursed through his system. "I cannot." But he didn't pull away._

" _You can because I say you can."_

" _No. We do not accept any form of payment. Monetary or..." Brains swallowed. "...or other."_

" _Please…" her voice was quiet... pleading... "I want to thank you. Is that so wrong..._ Brains? _"_

 _He finally allowed his fingertips to caress those enticing curves..._

"Brains..."

 _All shyness and reticence gone, he pulled back what little remained of the cloth that concealed that perfect body. She lay before him..._

 _Naked._

" _Isn't she beautiful?" The woman pushed back a lock of blonde hair that had fallen over the lapel badge on her overalls. A badge that revealed that she was an engineer with the Bloodhound SSC project._ "Brains?"

 _Brains smiled as he absorbed the lines and the feel of the blue and orange vehicle... The first car to attempt to travel at one thousand miles per hour on land... An engineering marvel..._

"Brains... Brains!"

Startled, Brains looked up.

The wrinkled old face of Grandma Tracy frowned down on him. "Are you in a dream, boy? We're here."

"W-We're where?" Brains dragged himself back to the more mundane present to discover they were in Thunderbird Two's hangar. "We're home?" He looked at his watch. It had stopped counting at the moment that Thunderbird Two had touched down.

55 minutes 15.302 seconds.

Confirmation of his mental dexterity made him forget his disappointment of missing out on his dream, and he stood. "How long was the flight, Tin-Tin?"

"Thirty minutes on the dot." Tin-Tin smirked. "Virgil Tracy, eat your heart out."

"Are we good or what?" Brains held his hand up for a high-five.

"We're not only good." Tin-Tin slapped his outstretched hand. "We are the best."

Enjoying the feeling of superiority, Brains collected his clothes from out of the cupboard. "I'd better go and check on our patients." He hurried out of the flight deck.

Tin-Tin removed her pink sash and handed it to Mrs Tracy. "Thank you for letting me wear that," she said, as she claimed her white lab coat and put it on over her uniform.

"I also appreciate it." Kyrano removed his maroon sash. "I hope Mr Parker never learns that his sash has already been used."

"By one careful owner." Mrs Tracy laughed. "I'm sure he won't mind." She slipped both sashes, along with her own, into her basket and pulled out her apron. "I suppose I'd better start thinking about dinner. Is everyone happy with only having something light?"

The Kyranos assured her that "something light" was quite sufficient.

-F-A-B-

Jeff Tracy pressed the final full stop, switched off the tablet computers on his hospital bed and bedside tables, put them all back into his briefcase, and looked around him.

The place seemed dead.

His four boys were all sound asleep and Jeff had no desire to wake them.

But he was bored.

He sat there for a few minutes, hoping that perhaps one of their carers would come in and give him some companionship.

But no one did.

He considered calling John up for a chat, but didn't want to wake his slumbering sons.

He was still bored.

He was also feeling better than he had done for days. Well enough that the idea of escaping his sickbed prison for a short time sounded like a tonic. That was if he could sneak past his prison's guards.

Moving slowly and quietly, and trying not to rustle the bedclothes too much, he swung his legs over the side and sat there, relieved to be free of vertigo and nausea. Taking it just as slowly, he slipped off the bed and stood, giving himself a few seconds to get used to the new orientation.

His body appeared to have no issues with being vertical for a change.

Pleased, he tiptoed out of the sick bay and to his own room, where he claimed his dressing gown and slippers. Then he padded through the house until he reached the lounge, slightly surprised that he didn't receive a scolding on the way. "Where is everyone?" he muttered to himself. "This place is like the Mary Celeste."

-F-A-B-

It was a weary but happy group that exited Thunderbird Two. They were surprised to find Brains waiting for them in the hall.

"How are the boys, Brains?" Grandma enquired.

"They are all well." Brains fidgeted.

"Good." Grandma noted his awkwardness and asked the obvious question. "What's wrong?"

"Your grandsons are, ah, s-still asleep."

Grandma raised a querying eyebrow at her younger friend's almost furtive manner. "And that son of mine?"

"Mr Tracy has gone, er, AWOL."

"Then he must be feeling better."

"Must be." The voice came from Brains' watch.

"John?"

"I'm reading electrical signals from the lounge. Someone's watching television, and if he's the only one missing then it must be Dad."

The four earthbound members of the family entered the lounge to discover that John's hypothesis was correct.

"Oh… Er…" Jeff Tracy looked a little abashed at being caught out. "I'm feeling fine... Better than I have for days..." His eyes briefly touched his mother's and then, sure he was about to receive a scolding, shifted to the unthreatening territory of his desk. "I thought I'd watch some television, but the boys were all sleeping like babies and I didn't want to wake them, so I, er..." He shuffled some papers. "I came out here…"

" _Once again a near miraculous rescue has been performed by International Rescue..."_

Surprised at hearing the name from the TV, Jeff started. Frowning he turned back to the screen.

" _After a collapse at its entrance, a senior school group was trapped in the Queen of Maybury mine in Tarkiston. The group was unharmed, but the resulting dust cloud that permeated the mine left two of the children, one 13 and the other 16, suffering from severe asthma attacks. With rescue not possible for at least 24 hours, the decision was made to call in International Rescue..."_

Jeff was beginning to feel sick again. The last time that someone had impersonated his organisation, it had spelt near disaster for the Tracys.

" _We now cross to the scene."_

The reporter was standing in a knot of excited teenagers, all buzzing. Not only from being dragged from the depths by the fabled International Rescue, but because they were about to be on television.

" _Thank you, Carolyn. I am here with the pupils of Highland School. They have just been through the school outing to rival all school outings."_ One hand waved at the TV camera, while another gave the reporter a pair of horns. _"What happened?"_ The microphone was pushed under Charlie's nose.

" _There was a HUGE explosion!"_ His arms cartwheeled. _"Then International Rescue drilled down in their drilling machine... It's called the Mole, you know?"_ he clarified to the reporter, who did know.

" _There were four people,"_ one of the others chipped in.

This started the others off in an excited chatter.

" _Two men and two women..."_

" _One was this foreign guy who spoke a weird language..."_

" _He spoke English too."_

" _And the woman spoke that language!"_

" _She was beautiful."_

" _Beautiful and clever. She shut Melvyn up. Even Mr Sampson couldn't do that."_

" _And there was this really old woman. She drove the Mole."_

" _Her baking was minty!"_

" _We all had a biscuit."_

" _Charlie had three."_

" _No, I didn't. She wouldn't let me."_

" _And there was a doctor with thick glasses."_

" _He wasn't a doctor. He knew all about the machines the Thunderbirds drive."_

" _The people aren't called Thunderbirds. Their planes are Thunderbirds."_

" _Thunderbird Four's not a plane. It's a submarine."_

" _It's still not a person."_

The reporter reclaimed her microphone. _"As you can see, Carolyn, these kids have not only survived, but thrived on today's drama. And I have received word that the two who were hospitalised will be discharged by the end of the day."_

A smile was shared between those standing in the lounge.

The television went blank.

Jeff Tracy stood. He looked pale and shaky.

His mother stepped forward. "Jeff?"

"I'm..." Jeff swallowed. He had to be hallucinating. The rough descriptions that those children had given matched those who were standing before him.

But that was impossible.

"I... I'm not feeling too good." He managed a sickly smile. "Maybe I've rushed things a bit."

"I believe you have." Kyrano moved forward to his friend's side, taking an arm. "Perhaps you should retire to bed?"

"That's a good idea, Jeff," Grandma agreed. "Maybe some chicken soup will make you feel better."

"I am sure that you don't need 24 hour care anymore." Brains took off his spectacles and polished them, so he didn't have to look at his employer in the eye. "You don't need to, ah, go back to the infirmary."

"We'll help you to your bedroom," Tin-Tin offered, taking Jeff's other arm. "You will feel better when you have had a lie down. Right, Father?"

"Tin-Tin is correct."

"Yes... Yes, I'm sure you're right," Jeff mumbled. He cast a haunted look at the television. "I could have sworn..."

"Go to bed, Jeff," his mother instructed. "And I'll be in soon with your soup."

"And you can call me up when you're feeling better." John smiled down on his father from his portrait. "We'll have a chat."

"Yes..." Jeff nodded. "That sounds like a good idea... Thank you." He looked back at the blank TV. "Delirious," he muttered, as he was escorted out of the room by the Kyranos. "I must be delirious."

Grandma watched him go. "Poor Jeff. Are we being cruel?"

"Cruel to be kind," John reassured her. "He's likely to have a relapse if he learns the truth before he's ready."

Brains pushed his spectacles back up his nose. "What do you, ah, think he will say when he r-realises that w-we actually took Thunderbird Two and rescued those children?"

"Whatever he says, _we'll_ just say that it's his own fault for teaching me how to drive the Mole," Grandma retorted. "He won't have any comeback to that." She pursed her lips. "Do you think he'd let me learn how to fly Thunderbird Two?"

"He might," John told her, "but I don't think Virgil will let you anywhere near her control yoke. It's one thing to teach you how to bore a hole in the ground. It would be another to let you fly his precious plane."

She smirked. "We'll see about that."

"Still," John continued, "it would be good to have back up. I can see you all in a line up, with Dad picking who gets to go on the latest mission." He grinned. "It'll be an International Res-queue."

Brains groaned. " _That,_ " he said, with feeling, "is enough of that!" He walked over to the desk. "Say goodbye, John..." He reached out to the computer.

"Goodbye? Brains! Don't cut me o...!"

Grandma chuckled at her grandson's expression as the video link was lost. "Sometimes that boy is too clever for his own good."

Smiling, Brains turned back to her. "Would you really want to go out on another, ah, rescue?"

"Well..." Grandma thought for a moment. "Maybe not. But I would like to pilot a Thunderbird, just once. Do you think that if Virgil won't let me fly Thunderbird Two, Scott will let me fly Thunderbird One?"

Brains decided that it was time to rescue himself from a situation that was sure to end badly. With an, "I think someone needs me," he ran from the room.

Grandma humphed at the lack of faith her family showed in her piloting abilities. How difficult could it be? She'd been flying aeroplanes since before her grandsons were born! Even before Jeff was born! Who were these mere whipper-snappers to tell her that she wasn't capable of flying an aircraft, albeit one that was more advanced than any other!? Then her scowl softened, and she looked furtively about the room to see if anyone was watching.

All was clear…

Grandma took a step towards the twin light fittings…

 _The end._

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